


Left Unspoken

by SapphireIsle92



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Canon, Coping, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fighting, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Mutual Pining, One Shot, POV, Pain, References to Assault, Regrets, Repressed Emotions, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 01:01:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17694581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireIsle92/pseuds/SapphireIsle92
Summary: This is a One Shot that takes place between the end of S03xE06 and S03xE12, describing Mickey's internal monologue throughout the events leading up to Ian's departure for the army.***Mickey has been tearing himself up since he and Ian were discovered by his father. Just when he thinks the situation between them couldn't possibly get worse, his worst fears become realized.





	Left Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> Got a new work for you!  
> This is a fic that I've been wanting to write for quite some time, which takes place immediately following my "Fading Resilience" piece.  
> But I must warn you all that it's very angsty and very painful.  
> I rewrote this twice and cried each time I did, but I hope it is appreciated.  
> I'm still editing typos, so please ignore them.  
> Please let me know what you think and thank you for reading! :)

To say that Mickey was depressed, would have been a serious understatement. He was far beyond that, honestly not much more than a crumbling, stewing, broken heap of a man, and he really wasn't sure what to do with himself. He'd been an absolute wreck since his father had walked in on he and Ian, feeling ashamed, embarrassed and exposed at how they'd been found out. Mickey would do anything to turn back time and do things differently, to let Ian leave for work when he'd said he needed to go, but no matter how hard he wished he could, it was impossible to do that now. He couldn't change what had happened, and now he had to live with it. 

When his father had brought Svetlana over and ordered her on top of him, all while watching the assault himself and holding them all at gun point while he did, Mickey couldn't stand to see Ian's face as he was forced to watch as well. Seeing the pain etched into his expression, the threat of tears that filled his eyes made Mickey's mind scream with agony as if his heart was being ripped from his chest the longer it went on. He didn't want to see Ian hurt like that, didn't want him to suffer through watching him be practically violated, forced to fuck a woman in front of him in the very same spot that only just the night before the two of them had shared such an intense and passionate evening together. Ian didn't need that, didn't deserve that, and as much he wanted the whole thing to stop right then and there, the most he could do was look away, flip Svetlana over and finish it himself. The quicker he could finish, the faster it would all end and the sooner Ian could get out of there and not be forced to stay. 

Then when it was over Mickey kept his face turned down, still trying to hide his shame as he heard his father bark out a final array of foul angry curses and kicked Ian out. When he finally did lift his face with a sickly tremble in his limbs, he moved off of Svetlana and just tried to conceal the disgust and repulsion he felt for what had happened, for what he had to do, then stared straight ahead with a tired heavy breath as his father sent the whore away too. Then the man had given him a blunt approving clap on the shoulder, told him he'd done good, that he was fixed now and left him alone to crumble, to break, quietly dropping his face inside his hands and let a hot stream of tears flow down his cheeks to trickle through his fingers. 

Mickey hated his father for what had happened, for what he did to him but he hated himself too for going along with it, even if he'd only been acting out of fear that the man would end up doing something worse to both of them if he'd refused. Everything between he and Ian had suddenly been destroyed so much faster than it'd been built, and now Mickey was alone again, though he almost felt he deserved it. The happiness Mickey had only begun to find with Ian now seemed to have been an illusion, a dream, an unachievable torment that he must have fooled himself into believing was real. He wasn't meant to be with Ian, not in that way or any other, and his father had made that clear. 

Afterward there was no shower that seemed hot enough, no alcohol that seemed strong enough to wash his shame and humiliation away, and Mickey simply stewed within his grief, unable to find much of anything to make it better. And the physical pain he'd been left with didn't even begin to compare to the emotional scars that'd been cut deep within his heart, and after a while even in private he could no longer even bring himself to cry, as no amount of tears seemed to be able to drain the sadness away either. He felt utterly empty, yet he still ached, and continued to try and drown it all out with a bottle, as hopeless and inefficient as his attempts to do so were. As much as Mickey tried, nothing seemed to change, thrust back into the dark and lonely shell that was hauntingly too familiar for him. Apparently he was just meant to be alone, and had been a fool for thinking anything otherwise.

Mickey began to drink so much he became belligerent and hostile, almost violent within his tormented ache, and the darkness that soon consumed him quickly became overbearing, overwhelming and much too heavy to carry. He had a rage beginning to build and burn inside of him, but had no way to let it out. He felt stupid for even allowing his relationship with Ian to get as far as it had, for becoming much too comfortable with whatever it was between them, denying to himself that any of it had ever even been real at all anyway. Mickey had been simply fucking kidding himself, and now he had to pay for it. 

For a while, Mickey had simply shut himself away inside his room, refusing to emerge for much of anything, not wanting anyone to see his face, to see the bruises and risk asking him what'd happened. He was still just too ashamed and felt simply disgraceful, disgusting and dirty, but also still felt like maybe he'd actually deserved it, that there really was something wrong with him that needed to be fixed and the forced assault unleashed by his father had been the only way to do it. But knowing that in his head nothing much had changed as far as his preferences went only made him feel worse, like he was a lost cause and no amount of punishment or torture his father had strewn upon him would ever be able to change it, disgusted with himself that none of it had seemed to work.

So Mickey just kept trying to drown himself in the bottom of bottle, choking down his emotions until he became so drunk he'd pass out within his pain, part of him silently hoping that maybe if he drank enough he wouldn't wake up again. But every morning when he would, with a harsh, stabbing headache pounding through his skull, he'd sigh through his hopelessness and groan with frustration, then grab another bottle to give it another try. 

Then one morning Mickey awoke much angrier and more aggressive than usual, needing something more, hoping it would give him back a bit of the strength that'd been so violently taken from him when his father had forced a whore on top of him. He wanted to feel like a man again, not some shriveling, sniveling little bitch that he absolutely hated feeling like. So he picked out one of the many handguns that were concealed within his house and took off to a place where he knew he could use it without any interruptions. 

He walked to the abandoned housing district down on the farther edge of South Side, a place where before it all happened, he often met up with Ian for one of their many secret trysts and held a dark and dreary scowl as he avoided the typical building they'd hide away in and climbed the hard, cold stairs of another one instead. Even though being here was still just as painful as being back at home, Mickey still struggled to ignore the flood of memories of past times spent here with the redhead that he hoped he'd be able to avoid, that he'd be able to forget, pushing it all away and setting up a target to shoot at, hoping the deafening bang of each shot would help him ignore it all for now. 

Before Mickey had left out to go here, his father had also warned him with a smug and cocky smile twisting across his lips, that for his own good Mickey had better stay away from Ian and that if he ever found out that he was seeing him again, that his correction didn't work, he'd kill them both and make Mickey watch while he killed Ian first. So out of fear for both of their lives, but especially the fear for Ian's, Mickey had agreed and had absolutely no intentions on calling the man's bluff. He would stay as far away from Ian as he could, not that he wanted to see him any time soon anyway, still much too ashamed for what the redhead had been forced to witness and accepted that those private, carefree times he'd spent with Ian were over, and they would never come back again. But on this very same day, his strugglingly therapeutic target practice had been interrupted, by the very same young man Mickey had been trying so very hard not to think about, not to see, the one he was hoping he'd be able to forget about, even though he couldn't. 

Ian had shown up and found him, already half knowing that he probably would, subconsciously hoping that he might, still unable to erase the man's face from his mind, no matter how much he knew he needed to. The redhead had looked happy to see him, almost relieved to have found him, but Mickey couldn't even look at him, refusing to let himself slip and fall back into the same ignorant bliss he'd had with him before. ‘That shit's over now,’ Mickey had to remind himself, tormenting himself with such words as he refused to hardly blink, let alone turn his head as Ian began to speak, pausing his steps and settled against the wall nearby. He still just tried to ignore him, tried to tune his voice out as he continued to shoot his gun, hoping that if he could do it long enough that Ian would just leave again, that he would be safe from any further wrath his father may lay upon them if he somehow were to find out he was here.

“Could you at least look at me?” Ian had asked, but Mickey refused to do much more than blink. 

‘No,’ Mickey thought. He couldn't. He wouldn't. He had to stay away. It was better, safer for both of them if Mickey didn't acknowledge his existence at all, even alone together like this, no matter how difficult it was to do. This was just the way it had to be now, no matter how either of them felt.

Then Ian had gotten fed up and left him there alone again, just like Mickey needed him to, even if he deep down he didn't want him to. But deep down inside, where he refused to ever let alone see, Mickey wanted nothing more than to look at Ian in his eyes again, talk to him again, to go back to how things were, but still knew just as much that he couldn't, he shouldn't, not anymore. And after Ian had walked back off and left him alone, Mickey tried to keep shooting, tried to forget again and push it all away once more, but he couldn't seem to do that now, feeling his eyes burn and his lips tremble as he ceased his fire, lowered his gun and struggled not to break back down all over again. He still cared about Ian, so very deeply whether he wanted to or not and he just couldn't seem to push that away like he'd been trying with everything else. It was just too hard. 

It got even worse as another few weeks went by and Mickey's father had come home in much too happy a mood, far too eager to tell him in front of the rest of his siblings that the whore was pregnant, and because of that Mickey would have to marry her and soon, that he was a man again now because of it and he was proud of him for knocking the bitch up. Mickey had frozen in shock when the man had broken the news to him, almost numb by it and could hardly react at all, hoping that perhaps he was sleeping, dreaming, stuck inside of some awful, terrible nightmare, but it was all too real. 

So he hit the bottle again even harder this time, if that were even possible, but it still wasn't enough. The pressure was becoming too great to bear and Mickey wasn't sure if he'd be able to survive it now. None of this was supposed to happen, not like this. During Mickey's times with Ian, he had almost foolishly begun to hope that maybe he wouldn't be doomed to hide who he was forever, that he wouldn't be forced to stay closeted, stuck in some soul sucking relationship with a woman, where he'd have to fuck her just often enough for her to pop out a few kids and he'd always have to wear a mask to cover up who he really was inside. Apparently Mickey had been stupid to ever let such a thought get stuck in his head, to tempt himself into believing that maybe his life could be different. And now that it was happening, he no longer had Ian to lean on either, even in secret. Mickey still thought now more than ever that if he could simply drink himself to death, he'd be better off, that it would the only way for him to ever be free, especially not having Ian any more.

He felt utterly miserable, drained and destroyed and he looked like it too, not that his father would have noticed anyway, much too proud of himself for thinking that he'd fixed his son, that he'd successfully corrected him and that there was nothing left to worry about. Even Mickey's siblings seemed oblivious to his pain, his despair, not that he tried to let them see it anyway. His brothers made ball and chain jokes, his sister belittled him for not wearing protection or pulling out when he knew that he was fucking a whore and Mickey couldn't help but wonder each and every time they did, if their attitudes toward him would change if they actually knew the truth, not that the truth really mattered anymore. It was all just another awful, disgraceful, disgustingly ugly secret that Mickey never intended on letting out no matter how they treated him. 

He dwelled and he stewed, trying so very hard not to think about any of it anymore, but just like after the whole thing happened, nothing seemed to help him do that. Mickey was fucked and he was stuck and now there was no way out of it. So, he simply shut himself away again and kept his distance from everybody else, still just needing to be alone for a while because the taunting, pressing thoughts that constantly clouded his brain lately were now getting darker, more unrelenting and he felt trapped inside his head. Mickey felt much more hopeless now than he ever had before and as much he hated himself for not being able to stop it, unable to change it, he still thought of Ian, his own small twinkle of light within the smogging pitch, even though he knew he shouldn't. 

Even though Mickey still knew that he had to stay away from him, he missed Ian, really fucking missed him which only made him feel all the more pathetic for not being stronger, more resilient, unable to let the redhead go completely. It would be better for both of them if he did, that's what he kept telling himself at least, constantly still trying to convince himself of that. But he just couldn't seem to make himself believe it. 

Mickey missed the comfort he'd found with Ian now more than ever, just being able to let go and forget, to let himself feel something good, something better, even if only for a little while. What he wouldn't give to be able to go find him again, to see him, talk to him, touch him, and let all else slip away. But that was over, he kept having to tell himself, all over, and he'd never ever have it back again. 

Then when the wedding was finally just a week away, Mickey went back to the abandoned housing district once again, the only place he could be alone anymore, even if the surroundings were still painful to him, fucking excruciating to him. Because this was also the closest he could ever bring himself to Ian again, picking out one of the very buildings he used to meet him in late at night, where they’d secretly embrace within the shadows after smoking or drinking together and Mickey never had to worry about anyone finding them here. There was just the slightest comfort in that, even if it still hurt to reminisce on, hurt much more than he could ever possibly explain. It was bittersweet being there, but Mickey didn't want to be anywhere else. 

Then one day as he sat there swallowing down another bottle of sharp, sour booze and started on another, letting himself simmer within a puddle of his own self pity, throwing rocks across the room at the emptied bottle he'd placed atop a window ledge, Ian found him yet again. And even though Mickey wanted to more than anything, just like before he could hardly even look at him, refusing to let himself break any further, willing himself to be strong despite how he still felt about the man deep inside. But this time was different and Mickey could tell immediately that Ian was angry, furious, because he'd finally heard the news, finally found out what was to happen, what Mickey had to do in just a few short days. Mickey tried to ignore him, tried to block out his words as the they stung his ears to hear, but Ian didn't let him, not this time and grasped his empty, glass target and flung it across the room to shatter against the floor. 

“What the fuck Gallagher?!” Mickey boomed in an outrageous, frustrated punch, then finally made eye contact with him for the first time in weeks. But he couldn't bring himself to say anything more and he clamped his mouth shut, bit his tongue, then looked away just as quickly as he rose from the floor to leave. 

He walked fast and hard, trying not to hear the angry, demanding words and curses that Ian hollered out behind him, needing to get away from him, far away from him, as quickly as he could. But then he felt Ian grasp a tight, hard palm around his arm to turn him back to look at him and with a shaky, defensive hand Mickey twisted around to shove the man away, unable to let the other man grab him again, even if he secretly missed his touch. 

Ian started to push him, really push him, poking and prodding, and hitting all the wrong buttons, making Mickey's mind cloud and flare with anger and rage all over again, because as much he understood Ian's outrage, now was not the time, not after what he'd been through. He just wanted to get away from him, ignore him, avoid him like he'd already been trying so very hard to do because being confronted like this was just too painful, too fucking excruciating to bear, the way Ian seemed to speak to him like Mickey actually had any choice in it at all. He couldn't face it, not now, not like this. But before he could even attempt to control himself, to restrain himself, trying once again to simply walk away, Ian's words hit a sore, tender wound inside that he couldn't muffle any longer, and something inside him seemed to burst. 

Mickey hit him, hard, with a sharp, furious fist barreling into his stomach and he watched him drop down to one knee and clutch an arm over his body with a groan. He cursed under his breath, hating himself to doing it, for hurting him, but it was as if his hands had acted on impulse, out of instinct, unable to stop the foul ugly form of self defense he'd always been raised to use and it hurt him just as much to realize what he'd done. Mickey turned again and tried to walk away once more when Ian spoke again, hitting an even more tender nerve than he had before, confronting him with a fact that was much more terrifying to face. 

“You love me, and you're gay,” Ian told him, the statement so firm and sure, so deeply knowing, telling Mickey that no matter how much he may deny it, he couldn't hide that from him, even now, even like this. 

Mickey turned his face back with a seething, shaky narrow in his eyes, hardly able to even blink over the powerful defensive course of adrenaline pumping through his veins and his gaze flickered with a hot, burning rage. He couldn't be gay, he was not allowed be gay, refusing to even give the notion a second thought of pondering, petrified of what might happen to him, to both of them, if any such words ever passed through his lips. He couldn't bring himself to say it, no matter how forcefully Ian demanded him to whether the fact was true or not. He couldn't let Ian believe that, no matter how pathetically Mickey knew deep inside that the redhead wasn't wrong, because he could never possibly explain the battle he fought with himself inside his own head, the struggle he had at home in his father's house, or even with the rest of the world, the only world he'd ever known where it just wasn't accepted. It didn't matter what he was or how he felt because it was just something that could never ever happen, and just thinking about it made him snap again, the same autopilot sort of defense he'd had before and Mickey hit him again, hoping to knock the words straight out of his mouth. 

Then watching Ian drop again, beginning to bleed and groan within the grass, Mickey hated himself even more, hardly able to look at him as he turned his face back away and raised a single hand to rub the burning threat of tears away from his eyes. He didn't want to hurt Ian, he never wanted to hurt Ian, but the redhead didn't stop, trying to get the other man to answer him and taunted him once more. 

“That make you feel good?” he asked, and that's when Mickey realized that this may be the only way. The only way to push Ian away from him, to keep him safe from whatever further punishment his father may release on them if they were ever discovered again, the only way he could force himself to let the redhead go, even if he still didn't want to. He had to make him hate him.

So Mickey raised his foot, then swung it down, crashing his shoe into Ian's chin with a brutal, violent strike, finally ceasing his voice and stopping his taunts, halting his pleas, his desperation to get Mickey to admit that there had been so much more between them that there could ever be. And just as he did, Mickey fought the urge to break again, knowing it was better for both of them if Ian thought he hated him, that they were done and it had all just been a dream. He reached to grasp his bottle of booze off the ground and quickly gulped it down, numbing the agony and drowning out the crippling wave of guilt that flooded through his chest for having done what he just did, then swallowed hard as he tossed the empty bottle aside and began to walk away.

“Feel better now,” he lied, and forced himself not to look back a final time as he kept his pace and left Ian behind. 

The next few days seemed to pass in a sort of blur, a fog, like a heavy, consuming static that Mickey couldn't entirely comprehend, almost feeling like he wasn't there at all. His father was still planning the wedding that was to come much too soon than Mickey wanted, because he still didn't want it to happen at all, but there was nothing he could do to stop it, the feeling of impending doom weighing down on him all over again. Mickey felt like he was teetering along the edge of a dark grueling pit and he was powerless to stop himself from being sucked down into it's depths to drown amongst it's shadows and disappear completely.

What made it even worse was the fact that now, Mickey couldn't get Ian off of his mind at all, not after what he'd done to him just a few days before, and he was internally beating himself up for that especially, still feeling like a terrible person for practically beating him down the way he had, even if it felt like he'd had no other choice at the time. He needed to shove Ian away and make the man leave him alone for good, he truly believed that, and such gruesome, hateful violence had seemed to be the only way to do it. But reminding himself of this didn't make Mickey feel any better, still dwelling so very deeply on actions that he couldn't take back. Mickey was sorry for what he'd done and he wished he could tell Ian that, even though he still knew it best for both of them that he didn't. He still needed to stay away, even if deep down he still really didn't want to. 

Then the remaining strength that Mickey held inside was tested again as he put on his tux and tried desperately to clear his head with a cigarette before taking his unwanted vows, when Ian sent him a text, practically begging the man to speak with him, to let him see him, and give him one last chance to be alone with him before it was too late. Mickey knew that he should have resisted, should have ignored it and deleted it just as quickly as it'd come, but he couldn't, knowing that he probably owed Ian at least that much, especially after everything that'd happened. Even if he also knew that no matter what the redhead had to say, it couldn't change anything to come, he just couldn't turn him away again. But that part wasn't up to Mickey, and was just the way it had to be.

So Mickey instead responded, telling Ian where he would be before the wedding, alone downstairs in the basement of the chapel and that he would wait for him, if he really truly wanted him to. Then the redhead had wasted no time in arriving just a short while later, practically bursting through the door and startling him as he chain smoked another cigarette and tried to will away the torment of his thoughts. There was a slight sense of relief that filled his chest when Mickey laid his eyes on him, seeing that he didn't appear bruised or beaten anymore, though still felt guilty when he noticed the man's despair still heavy in his gaze, matching that of his own that he tried to keep concealed. He couldn't let himself break again, not in front of Ian and held a hard expression as they began to argue about things he couldn't change.

“It's a fuckin' piece of paper,” Mickey tried to explain, tried to justify what it was he had to do, that it shouldn't matter if he was getting married or not, but it didn't seem to make it any better, not to Ian.

The redhead looked frustrated that Mickey wouldn't budge, that he couldn't budge, not seeming to understand that he really had no choice in the matter, shaking his head, turning around and nearly leaving just as quickly as he'd arrived. But Mickey stopped him, trying to offer something, no longer able to push the other man away, no matter how dangerous it would be for them to pick things back up and be together again in the only way they could. Mickey missed him too much and he didn't want to miss him anymore, wanting so very badly to touch him and be touched by Ian again, craving the embrace they used to share before they'd become exposed and destroyed by his sadistic, manipulative father and didn't want to deny it anymore no matter what it was he had to do to keep it all a secret again. 

“If you give half a shit about me,” Ian pressed and Mickey raised a hand to stop him from getting too close, still afraid to let the other man touch him again, no matter how much he wanted him to, “Don't do this,” he pleaded sadly, pitifully, with desperation in his voice.

Mickey's eyes flickered as he looked over Ian's face, knowing that he couldn't give the redhead what he wanted, but he didn't want to turn him away again either, didn't want to keep his distance anymore, didn't want to resist, no matter how badly he should. Mickey did give a shit about Ian, he really fucking did, more so than he could ever verbally express, no formation of words ever being adequate enough to describe how he truly felt for the man deep inside. So he let himself slip, let his stance break, the urge and the longing for the other man becoming simply overpowering, wanting to feel good again, wanted and cared for again, if only for a little bit. He wanted to show Ian that he cared in the only way he knew how, even if he could never bring himself to say it and stepped forward in a lunge to grasp him by the neck and kiss him as hard as he could, the release of the contact melting all else away. 

Ian seemed surprised by his action, but accepted it and embraced him all the same, kissing him back with just as much feeling and fervor, and let Mickey grasp onto him ever so tightly and pull him deeper within the basement. Their feet nearly rushed as their hands pulled at one another, lips, tongues and teeth clashing within their kiss, wanting each other, needing each other and both men seemed so very eager to be together again, not seeming to care how risky or dangerous it was for them to be like this where they were now. Nothing mattered but the two of them in that moment and they were all each other needed. 

As Mickey pulled his suit jacket from his shoulders, Ian did the same with his shirt and Mickey couldn't seem to take his eyes off of him, wanting to see him and memorize every little feature of his face and body all over again because it was the only time he could. He slid the tip of his tongue across his lip as he watched Ian rush to unbutton his jeans with eager shaky hands, then practically manhandled him as he pushed Mickey to turn around, leaning his body forward and bending him over the nearby sink, just as Mickey reached to unfasten his own pants as well. Their breaths instantly fell heavy as Ian pushed up the back of Mickey's shirt and helped him pull his pants down just enough to expose his ass and the dark haired man sighed through an anxious, trembly exhale. 

“Come on,” Mickey whispered with urgency, not wanting any prep before beginning, wanting to savor the burn, the stretch, the pressure of finally feeling Ian fill him up again after far too long. He relished the sensation of his flesh flushing hotly with a radiating wave of tingles as the anticipation of feeling the other man inside him again became instantly unbearable. 

“Fuck me,” he pleaded quietly as the grip of his hands curled tightly around the sink in front of him. 

He heard Ian wetly lick his palm, then felt him drop the same down hand to his cock as he grasped his other hand around Mickey's hip and took a step forward to push the head of his cock against him. He didn't seem to want to waste any time either as he gently yet firmly pressed himself further, causing Mickey to wince a bit, biting down sharply on his lower lip and gripping the sink tighter, then groaned rather heavily as Ian began to work his way inside of him with small, shallow thrusts. Mickey's breath shook, trying to swallow his steadily rising moans as Ian quickly pushed in deeper, not wanting anyone to hear them, not wanting them to be interrupted in any way. He fucking needed this even if it was quick.

Ian's hands grasped tight against his hips, fingertips gripping hard against his body before slowly gliding up to his waist and grasping again, and the redhead leaned forward to rest his forehead at the back of Mickey's neck, inhaling from his scalp as he moaned so very quietly from the physical connection between them. Mickey had missed this, really fucking missed this and Ian seemed to feel the same as he felt a single palm wrap around his body and held him close against him, seemingly needing to feel him and be as close to him as he possibly could. The redhead lifted his face a bit and Mickey felt the hot, wet pucker of his lips press against the nape of his neck followed by a damp, heavy huff of his breath pushing off his tongue as they parted with another moan. 

“Oh, Mickey,” Ian praised through a whisper as he rolled his hips a little harder, now sinking his cock as deeply into the other man's ass as he could manage, “I knew you still wanted this,” he breathed heavily, “Just as much as I do,” he said. 

The other man's brow creased thickly as his eyes stayed closed and his mind tried to focus on the sweet, painful pleasure that the redhead was sending coursing through his body, but he couldn't bring himself ignore his words either, even if he couldn't respond to them the way that Ian probably wanted. His knuckles whitened as he curled his hands further around the rim of the sink, clamping onto the metal like a vice and parted his lips with a slightly higher and more desperate groany moan. 

“Fuck, Ian,” Mickey's voice trembled and he dipped his head a bit, “Please don't stop,” he managed, then bit his lip again as the redhead began thrusting faster, harder and tightened the embrace of his arms around his body, melding them together in a way that Mickey loved, never wanting Ian to let go of him again. 

Until now Mickey had felt so strained, so deprived of everything else that made him feel human, that made him feel like a man, like he was wanted, appreciated and cared for, nothing and no one ever having done that for him the way that Ian always could. He felt whole and complete being so close to Ian with their bodies so flawlessly intertwined the way they were now. It was more than a sexual connection, but a personal and intimate one that he could never find with anyone else, and he wasn't sure how he'd managed to stay away for so long, or why he’d actually thought it would be best for them to keep their distance, to split apart and separate when this felt so much better being together. In this moment Mickey didn't care what it would take, or how careful they may have to be, he didn't want to push Ian away from him ever again. Ian was worth it all. 

Mickey felt another hot, damp flush of Ian's breath against his neck once more, nearly shuddering as it rolled like a wave beneath his shirt and down the flesh of his back, speckling his skin with a pleasurable shudder of goosebumps as it went. Then he kissed him again on the back of his shoulder as his hips pounded against him with a hard, fleshy smack, pushing a deep heavy moan up through Mickey's throat and vibrated off his tongue with a harsh, hungry rumble. He felt Ian's lips press back into his neck for another kiss and Mickey reached a hand behind his head to lace his fingertips through the redhead's hair, greatly enjoying the feeling of Ian's mouth against his skin.

“Ian,” Mickey whispered out once more, his tone deeper and more yearning, wanting the man to hear him, to know that he was enjoying all that he was doing to him, but Ian seemed to a have a craving to hear him say a little more, and moved his lips over to brush against his ear. 

“You like that, Mick?” queried Ian, his nearly breathless tone drenched with lust as he moaned between his words, “You like the way I fuck you?” he asked, his voice rough and searching as a single hand moved down a bit and caressed itself more firmly into his hip. 

The other man didn't always like being put on the spot like this, but he didn't want to lie and he didn't want to stay quiet either, suddenly feeling the very same confidence and comfort that he had with Ian every time before and parted his lips to reply, having no fear in doing so right now. 

“Yes,” Mickey answered surely, “Fuck yes,” he insisted with more emphasis, “Always fuckin' do,” he said. 

Ian moaned again quite breathily, seeming to approve of his reply and sucked Mickey's earlobe between his lips, biting on it lightly with his teeth, causing the other man to curl his fingertips more tightly within his hair. Then the redhead released his ear as he let go of Mickey's hip only to reach forward and grasp his hand over Mickey's that was still gripped tightly around the edge of the sink, his hips smacking even harder against him, like he had some point to prove. 

“You always take it so good, Mick,” Ian praised, then pressed another hard, wet kiss into the base of his neck, “No one takes it like you,” he breathed, “Don't want anyone but you,” he said. 

Mickey's face scrunched more tightly and his eyes remained clamped as Ian pounded into him with such strength, such force that it was almost too much to bear, desperately trying to keep his noises quiet as he savored every thrust. Ian's words lingered on him, imprinting themselves inside his brain as they echoed through his mind over and over again, and wished he had the courage to say the same. But even if he couldn't, Mickey still hoped his body language was clear, that Ian knew how he felt deep down even if he couldn't say and tried again to translate his emotions in the only way he knew. He spread his fingers to let Ian's between them, then interlaced their grasp, squeezing hard and pressing his body back into him, feeling the hard, firm flex of the other man's muscles mold against his back.

Their hearts seemed to beat together and the sounds of their breaths and moans blended more seamlessly as one as their movements became rougher, more urgent, chasing their release together. Mickey could hear Ian's breath begin to stutter as his own cock throbbed and a rush of tickling, airy flutters began dancing inside his chest and wafting up his throat, pushing another breathy, slurry string of needy, wanting moans off his tongue and spilled out through his lips. Mickey then dropped his hand from Ian's head to grasp the sink again, bracing himself further and the redhead slid his arm out from around the other man's body, reaching forward as well to wrap his hand around Mickey's other one, interlacing both of their grasps as their mutual climax was nearing ever closer. 

Mickey's hands shook against the sink as Ian's cock pushed deep, rubbing back over the sweet, sensitive bundle of nerves within, causing him to bite down upon another moan as it began to pulsate, quaking through his insides and he felt his balls pull up tight just as Ian squeezed his own hands over Mickey's once more, his own breath stuttering again. His brow creased once more, unable to stay quiet as he felt the tip of Ian's cock burst inside his ass, filling him up with a hot, slick spurt of cum, grunting and groaning as he began to cum as well. Then Ian suddenly spoke again through a trembly, shaky breath, saying something that made his eyes shoot open wide with a sudden flood of shock. 

“I-I love you,” Ian stuttered through a thick, heavy breath as he released his orgasm deep inside of him, and Mickey seemed to freeze with silence, completely not expecting to hear anything like that at all. 

Mickey didn't know how to react, or what to say in return, knowing that he wouldn't be able to bring himself to speak any such thing as that back to him, not now, not like this. But it also didn't quite seem like Ian had actually meant to say that to Mickey, that it was only in the moment, something he'd lost control of, so he thought perhaps it best to just pretend he hadn't heard it, much too afraid to face the man who may expect that he had. Instead he pushed the words away, locking them away somewhere deep down inside and tried not think too hard on them, because he couldn't right now, not when he knew that what he still had to do would only break Ian's heart if he reciprocated it. It seemed better to just leave such things unspoken, at least for now. 

But he still let himself smile, let himself take a breath through a happy and satisfied pant, feeling so much better about everything after they seemed to have reconciled things between them. Mickey didn't feel nearly as hopeless or doomed as he had just a short while before, not with having Ian back beside him. He suddenly felt like he could face just about anything, no matter how unfortunate or even terrifying his circumstances currently were, like he had his strength back and he didn't have to worry anymore. Mickey was no longer going to be alone in this. He would have the best support he could possibly have with Ian back in his life, even if he'd still have to hide it from his father and everyone else. Ian was all he needed. 

Then just after the redhead released his hands from his own and slowly pulled his wilting cock back out from inside him, Mickey reached to grab his pants, pulling them back up over his ass, tucking in his shirt and shrugged his suit jacket back onto his shoulders as he straightened back up. He then turned around to face the other man just as Ian sparked a cigarette and sucked in a thick, smoky drag, appearing quite satisfied as well. 

“Goddamn, Gallagher,” Mickey praised approvingly, “I gotta get you pissed off more often,” he grinned. 

But Mickey's fresh, good mood was almost instantly brought back down when he'd told Ian to wait here for him and that he'd be back down after getting this shit over with, to which the redhead instantly looked hurt and appalled that Mickey was still going through with it. Ian tried to argue, tried to get him to change his mind, but as much as Mickey wished he could call the whole thing off, it just wasn't possible, not with Svetlana being pregnant and with his father so intent on proving he'd been fixed. In a perfect world he would have, in a fucking second, but the world they were both stuck in was unfortunately anything but perfect. 

“Why you acting like I got a choice in this?” asked Mickey, trying to get Ian to understand, but the redhead wouldn't be swayed.

Ian still argued with him, still acted like he didn't believe him, wanting to convince him that something could be done, that he didn't have to do this, and Mickey could clearly tell that the other man just couldn't comprehend why this still had to happen, no matter what he said. But Mickey also understood himself why the redhead pushed so hard, why he couldn't let this go, not without fighting for it so firmly. Ian loved him and Mickey knew that, he'd said that and even if he may not have planned to, he still meant that even with is being spoken in an intense lustful moment of intimacy, those words were true, even if Mickey couldn't say them back. But he didn't want to argue with him anymore, didn't want to fight again no matter how hard the situation was for Ian to accept, not after everything that'd just happened and tried once more to tell him that he mattered to him and what he had to do had nothing to with what they had between them. Mickey paused and hesitated, trying to find the right words to convey his thoughts, then lowered his voice and looked at him with as much sincerity as he could muster. 

“Not everyone gets to blurt out how they fuckin' feel every minute,” he said, hoping the words would resonate with Ian, in some way. But the redhead still didn't look convinced, parting his lips to speak once again, when they were suddenly interrupted by Mandy entering the room and their conversation was instantly cut short. 

They didn't have a chance to say anything else to each other, before Mickey flashed him a final glance, then moved to leave the room, silently hoping that he'd gotten through to Ian on some level at least and made his way back up the stairs to do what he had to do.

During the reception, Mickey had avoided Ian's gaze, not wanting his father to notice it, and still just tried to focus and get this shit all over with, wanting nothing more than meet him back in basement afterward to pick things up where they'd been left behind. He hoped for another chance to talk to him, even if he wasn't exactly sure what he would say, still set on trying to explain how things just had to be, that he didn't have a choice and it was to protect them both, but Mickey would never get the chance. 

When Mickey had finally found a moment to slip away, he searched for Ian, only to find him wallowing in the bottom of a cup, angrily getting drunk and seemed to have no intent in meeting him again at all. But as disappointed and saddened as Mickey was at the sight of him like this, he couldn't blame him either, understanding completely why Ian was so hurt, and thought it completely fair that Ian wanted to avoid him now after what he'd done. So instead he left the chapel, made his way home and drank a bit himself, just before falling asleep alone, not wanting Svetlana to get any ideas about them engaging in anything else. Mickey would never touch that whore ever again, not if he could help it.

Then as another week passed, he still hadn't seen or heard from Ian at all, and the darkness he'd endured before slowly started seeping back into his mind with an unrelenting force. Mickey started to wonder again if all that there was between them, the flame that he thought they'd reignited had all been ruined again, lost again, broken beyond repair. He had genuinely hoped that he'd have Ian back with him, that what they had was strong enough for them to get through all of this together, but he was seriously beginning to doubt if any of that were still true. Mickey was starting to feel crushed all over again, but couldn't bring himself to try and get a hold of Ian either, opting to give the man his space and hold out hope that the man would come to him, the same persistent way he always had before. 

He got through that week one day at a time, keeping up the same charade and wearing the same mask, trying to show those around him that everything was fine and normal with him, that he wasn't completely breaking inside. He put up with his brothers asking what his new wife's rates were, along with Svetlana dictating what he could and couldn't have displayed in his room anymore, redecorating and rearranging it in it's entirety. He also had swat her hands away from his cock every night as he was stuck sleeping next to her, so much so that he'd finally gotten tired of it and bought a fucking sleeping bag to zip himself into instead. But he still just wanted to see Ian again more than anything else, and the fact that he hadn't is what seemed to bother him most. He was starting to miss him again, but that hurt too much to admit.

Mickey even took the chance of walking back through the abandoned housing district like he has before to see if maybe Ian there, but found no trace of him. Nor did Mickey find him when he stopped by the Kash ‘N Grab for a 40 and a pack of smokes, even taking the long way home walking past the Gallagher house, trying not to be noticed as he glanced up vaguely at it's windows, not catching even the slightest glimpse of him there either. He felt pathetic all over again for having the redhead occupy his mind so much, but Mickey just couldn't help himself. He wanted to know if things were still okay between them, that Ian hadn't given up on him and opted to leave him all together, perhaps no longer wanting to waste his time on Mickey anymore. 

The unknowing was becoming fucking torture for Mickey, not being able to do much more than distract himself with smoke, beer, even going back to shooting his gun and lifting weights, until one day there was a knock at the door that his sister answered, claiming it was for her. Then Mickey walked out of his room and down the hall to see who'd arrived only to be suddenly halted by the sight of freckled skin and red hair, immediately sending a tickling rush of flutters swarming back into his chest. 

“Aye,” Mickey greeted, unable to stop the pleasantly surprised smirk that pulled at the corner of his mouth. Ian didn't say anything back, but Mickey didn't dwell on it, much too happy just being able to finally see the man again and quickly thought of a simple excuse to lead the man away, urging him to fallow him back to his room so he could finally speak with him, even if just for a moment. 

Mickey tried to appear relaxed and friendly, making casual conversation in the hopes that Ian would feel comfortable enough to talk back to him, trying not to let the memory of the last time they'd seen each other put a damper on them now. He wanted things to go back to normal between them in whatever way he could, but clearly saw that the mistake of mentioning Svetlana didn't seem to help that any, the redhead instantly looking rather uncomfortable at that, as he stayed quiet and still where he stood within the doorway. So Mickey tried again, inviting Ian to come by to see him the following evening, knowing his wife would be working and his father would be out getting drunk, but surprisingly the redhead turned him down. He'd been taken aback a little at that, but refused to let it show, keeping his expression leveled and instead tried flirting with him a little bit, hoping that his boldness would change his mind, telling him that he missed him and he wanted him in the only way he could. 

“Hard to get's gettin' me hard, Gallagher,” Mickey smirked with an appealing, dropping sweep of his eyes, but just like before when Mickey had tried to convince him of his true feelings inside, Ian wasn't so easily swayed. 

The redhead told him that he was leaving town, and Mickey just joked with him, making a quip about some ‘queer rights rally', refusing to jump to any conclusions just yet, but the redhead remained quite serious in his stance. He informed him that he was enlisting in the army, something that Ian had spoken of many times before, but being that the redhead wasn't of age to do so yet, Mickey didn't really believe him, arching his eyebrow at the man with an expression of confused skepticism. Then when Ian told him that he'd found a way around the age issue, Mickey felt an overpowering sense of nervous panic suddenly spread across his skin, walking back toward him with another raise of his brow. 

“That's a dumb ass fuckin' move. How long?” Mickey asked with disbelief. 

“Four years, minimum,” Ian replied with a slightly smug expression pressed into his face, like he was excited and proud of himself, like he couldn't wait to go. 

Mickey was at a loss for words for a moment, trying to process what the redhead just said, and he felt his heart suddenly begin breaking, tearing, ripping right in half as Ian's words settled on his ears. This couldn't be happening, Ian had to be fucking with him, trying to hurt him, to spite him for having married Svetlana even after he'd begged him not to. This had to be a trick, some cruel and disgusting joke, or perhaps a test that Ian was giving him, trying to get a rise out of him, trying to hurt him for what he'd done. Mickey immediately got defensive, struggling not to let his voice tremble as he narrowed his eyes and hardened his expression in a deeply incredulous way. 

“What’re you hoping, I tell you not to go?” he queried in return, and forced down a scoff at the redhead's reveal as he took a few steps back, “That I'm gonna chase after you like some bitch?” Mickey questioned angrily. But then his face fell as Ian appeared unfazed, taking a step back as well and turning his face away. 

“I didn't come here for you,” he said, and Mickey couldn't do much more than blink. 

This was happening, really fucking happening and Mickey was almost shocked, not knowing if there was anything he could possibly do to stop it. There was suddenly a harsh, violent array of different emotions firing off within his skull, and Mickey's heart suddenly felt like it'd been ripped straight from his chest. Ian was leaving, actually leaving and he wouldn't see him for years, if ever again at all. He could feel the darkness and the pain closing in on him again, his hope of having Ian back with him, of being together again, of supporting him through all the bullshit that'd been stacked against him now slowly shattering and smoldering into dust. Mickey felt the searing burn of tears threatening to spill from his eyes and before he could stop himself, he choked out a single pleading word and gave his head a shake. 

“Don’t,” said Mickey, just trying not to break and met Ian's eyes as he turned back a final time and creased his brow a bit. 

“Don't what?” asked Ian, but Mickey's throat closed up on him again.

‘Don't go. Don't do this. Don't fucking leave me,’ Mickey thought, wanting so very much to push the words out past his lips, to say every single thought he had that was flooding through his mind, but the fear and uncertainty of voicing such a thing seemed to beat him down. 

“Just-,” he tried, searching for the courage to say how he truly felt, to tell Ian what he wanted him to know, everything he wished he could say, but nothing more came out. 

He felt utterly devastated, defeated, pathetically fucking crushed and no matter how much Mickey wanted to, how much he knew he should, he couldn't bring himself to beg, couldn't plead, couldn't stop Ian from turning back around and walking down the hall, leaving him behind. Mickey was shaken, he was broken, and never wished so very much that he could go back to feeling numb as he felt the world begin to crumble down around him. He would have to go this alone and suddenly realizing that couldn't have possibly hurt him more.

And as soon as Ian was gone, Mickey wanted to run right after him, to somehow convince him that he was sorry for what he'd done, to tell him again that he'd had no choice and it wasn’t what he really wanted. If he had the chance Mickey would try to assure him that he would do whatever it took for him to come back, to stay and that he didn't want him to leave. He wanted Ian to stay more than anything and he'd find a way to tell him that, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. 

Maybe it was some misplaced sense of pride that stopped him from doing any of that, or the fact that Mickey was unrelentingly stubborn, or perhaps it was the lingering stigma that begging and pleading made him some bitch, some woman, something that he never wanted to be. But Mickey really didn't know what it was, figuring maybe he was just stupid or that he deserved this, that he'd tried too hard to get Ian to hate him and maybe now he actually did. He wished he would have had the courage and the strength not to have frozen up the way he did, to say something, anything, but it was too late to change any of that now. Ian was already gone and there was nothing he could do. Maybe he didn't deserve him anyway. 

Instead things were now left unfinished and incomplete, left lingering on lost words and deeply buried feelings and Mickey was left with a painful burning emptiness inside from everything that'd been lost and everything that'd been destroyed. And he was now alone again to break, to crumble, to dwell so very deeply yet again, on so much left unspoken.


End file.
